Most Unwanted
by Corelli Sonatas
Summary: Imagine that Matthew Crawley had a chance to say goodbye to his family - after the car crash. Imagine the scene of a frightened and panicked Mary repeating that she would be only half herself without her husband. Imagine Downton as it braves the storm. This is a take on Downton Abbey pre-series four, following the 2012 Christmas Special.
1. PART ONE: Gone

There was uncertainty in room 8b of the Downton village hospital: the ecstatic family of Lady Mary Crawley was not yet present, and the only one who accompanied Anna, the exhausted Mary, and asleep child was Isobel Crawley, the proud father's mother. Matthew had telephoned Isobel to keep Mary company, and so Isobel had done for a half hour. She, too, felt it right to worry; for, as obvious at it was, the expected family should have been in the hospital an hour ago.

Mary allowed Anna to take the baby from her arms and to place him in the nearby crib. "He can be on his own for now." She turned to her mother-in-law. "I want to telephone Granny to ask when the others all departed Downton."

"Why don't I do it? You need rest; I can see it in your eyes, Mary." Isobel smiled nervously and turned for the door leading out to the hospital's narrow hallway. She did not yet reach the end of the series of doors when she spotted a telephone against the wall. After asking the operator to connect with the house, Robert's voice came from the other end. "Hello?"

"Cousin Robert? What a surprise! This is Isobel. I figured that you would be here by now."

"Do you mean the hospital?" The man's response had sounded rather aghast, which stirred up more anxiety in Isobel.

"Is Matthew not there? He was supposed to return with the news one hour ago!"

"Are you saying that we know not where the young man is?" Robert practically shouted, panic controlling his emotions. "He has not been here…not at all."

Isobel's heart pounded; she knew that her son would not have taken a roundabout route back to announce the birth of his child. "We must both try to contact him, Robert. Send any news back to this hospital."

"Oh, Isobel, I hope there is a valid explanation for this," Robert whispered; for, on the other end of the line, Cora had just neared her husband to question his reason for using the telephone.

"Who was that, Robert?" asked Cora, her countenance quite opposite from that of her husband.

"Cora, we don't know where Matthew is," Robert declared plainly. "That was Isobel, wondering where we all are; apparently Matthew was supposed to have come home to tell us that we can see Mary and the baby now." Robert put a hand to his mouth, deep concern causing the man to imagine the worst. What if something had happened – something terrible – and Matthew would not be able to contact his family?

Cora's eyes widened. "Was he supposed to have been here by now?"

"Apparently -"

"Then we must telephone all nearby areas through which Matthew could have travelled. Let's not worry Mary about it yet," Cora added, certain that the last thing her daughter would want to know at this time was that the father of her newborn was missing.

Robert shook his head sadly and explained, "I am sure Mary knows since she has been expecting us for an hour."

Cora felt her heart skip a few beats. What if Matthew had come across some sort of difficulty? How would Mary – or Isobel – react upon hearing devastating news about the man's fate? Cora closed her eyes and tried not to jump to conclusions; what a tragedy it would be for the new father to lose his life when his child had known him for mere minutes...

...

An automobile came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road north of the Downton estate. A car appeared to have crashed, and when the passerby driver went out of his car to examine the area he saw someone in the midst of the smoke swaying from the car's engines. The man had dried blood covering the visible part of his head, yet the locks of blond hair still seemed to shine and appear alive.

Wondering whether this fallen man was not quite yet a corpse, the driver crouched to whisper "Sir?" to the body.

No reply.

Panic arising from the driver, he blinked and looked around and felt sweat drip from his forehead. He knew that he would have to notify someone of the fallen, modest-looking man; for if he did not do so – well, the driver could not imagine what would become of him.

The family of this poor man, he knew, would have to hear such agonizing words come from the mouths of policemen: "We found your relative dead alongside a malfunctioned automobile."

The disturbing thought of such an unhappy ending to this man's life made the driver think to himself, _What if I were found like this poor man, appearing dead, but really slightly alive? What if all I needed was the swift help of a passerby to revive me?_

"Sir, please hear me. Please wake up," the man projected to what seemed to be no living body, yet his voice carried astounding strength and hope with it. One eye of the seriously injured stranger flickered and opened halfway; the chapped lips of the man parted and spoke:

"Matthew...I am...Tell Mary...and Mother...I love them. Send my son...my...love."

Shocked by the detailed reply from the dying man, the driver felt the sudden courage to flag down another automobile driver to take this man to the nearest building.

That place was none other than Downton Abbey. Alfred answered the door that afternoon to a few disheveled strangers. "May we please speak with the head of the house?" one asked the footman, who nodded and replied, "Certainly, sir."

In less than a minute, the Earl and Countess of Grantham came out to the two distraught travelers. "Hello. Have you news of Mr. Matthew Crawley?"

The driver who had spotted the fallen man in the road twenty minutes earlier stepped forward and introduced himself: "I am George Newton, milord, and I am sorry to say that the man whom I found alongside an obvious automobile crash is named Matthew - at least, that is what he uttered first."

"God, man, where is he? Do not tell me -"

"He is in the car, milord, though we are afraid -"

"We will have our footmen bring him inside the house," Cora interrupted. "Are you sure that this is Matthew _Crawley?"_

The second man offered, "You may see the man, milady."

Robert's eyes widened, as he could not bear to think of what he would do if this were his son-in-law. Cora prompted her husband to proceed to the car; at this point Jimmy had come to assist the strangers with opening the car.

Cora gasped and tears flooded her eyes. Robert cursed when he saw the very picture he had feared as plain as day. Mary and the child were the only people of whom he could think, and deep sorrow was lucidly present in his next statement: "What happened to my heir?" Robert stared the two new faces alertly in the eyes, desperate for an answer that he would be able to comprehend and accept.

"I found him lying on the ground, milord -"

"Yes, I understand that part!" the Earl of Grantham snapped, irritation resulting from his tumultuous mind. He could not grasp the fact that his son – and Matthew Crawley had been close enough to him to call him that – was injured and nearing death. "Did you do it?" Robert questioned, making sure that these men were not responsible for the accident; he did not, after all, want to imagine how he would deal with the one who drove the cautious and sensible Matthew Crawley to his end.

"No, milord, he appeared to have been there for a while," responded one of the two men. The countenance of the driver was believably honest and devastated; thus Robert and Cora silently trusted the man. "Shouldn't we call for a doctor?" he asked, pointing to the inside of the big house.

Cora had almost forgotten that life was continuing on, as it normally had. She immediately thought that Mary and the newborn baby should be present during this time, but she knew not how a tired woman with a delicate child would manage to travel to Downton. "We need Mary and the baby here," she announced solidly, her face statue-like with worry for the absent members of the family. "And Isobel," she added, reminding herself that Matthew's mother was just as important as anyone else.

"But how, Cora? We couldn't possibly -" Robert was cut of by the stranger:

"This man spoke of a 'Mary and son' as well. Even his mother."

"Matthew's wife has just had a baby, and they are in the village hospital. Matthew's mother is also with them," explained Robert, feeling the cold hand of the body in the automobile.

"This man told me something along the lines of 'Tell Mother and Mary that I love them' and 'send my son my love.'" The man averted his gaze from the injured man to the Earl of Grantham.

Robert's excitement of having a grandson was not near to what it had been minutes ago. Turning to the two travelers, he confessed, "Sorry to trouble your day with this," though the two kind strangers told him not to worry. With the help of the men, Matthew Crawley was transported from the inside of the car to the library inside the abbey.

Cora telephoned Isobel immediately after Matthew had been taken inside the house: "Isobel..."

...

Mary was not able to mentally endure the moments that passed between hearing that Matthew Crawley was dying and the arrival at Downton. Because her son had been born premature, Doctor Clarkson had forbidden that the newborn travel by car; naturally, Mary had bribed the hospital to allow the prohibited, and with Isobel and Anna on her side, she was able to depart with temporary composure. However, the numerous tears, sobs, and shortness of breath that had resulted from the already-exhausted woman's notification of her husband had crushed her. Isobel, too, was speechless after hearing those excruciating words that Cora had uttered on the telephone; for their translation could have meant, "Your son is dying."

Although Mary would have desired to hold her son on the way back to Downton Abbey, she had asked Anna to perform that duty, having feared that her own weakness and shock would make it unsafe for the child. Isobel had remained next to her devastated daughter-in-law the entire time, for she had felt calmer near someone who knew and loved her son so dearly.

Matthew had been taken only to Downton's library due to his extremely delicate state. Mary, Isobel, Anna, and the unnamed child were greeted only by the mild wind and ironically cheerful song of a bird. They made no haste in getting inside the house to see the man whom they craved to be all right.

When Mary's eyes met the sight of Matthew, she lost all breath; he, like her, appeared rather weak, and his face was – quite unlike hers – stained with blood that had flowed out of his head. Deep down, the woman who was still clothed in maternity robes knew that this was the end of her dear husband's life; she could not, however, understand just how her Matthew Crawley had been so harmed, so _hurt_. The baby, fussing in Anna's arms, caught the attention of Robert and Cora; their grandson was before their eyes, and he was so precious. The two could not focus all attention on him (as much as they wished) because the father of the child moaned. Mary had already rushed to her husband's side, her eyes clouded with worry and her abdomen aching from the strenuous return by car. Her heart had brought her there to her Matthew, for she was quite certain that, had it not been for the man's condition, she would not have traveled.

Isobel had also neared her son with tears streaming down her frailer - and usually stronger - face. "My boy, how I love you..."

"Darling Mother," breathed the injured man, "I am sorry...this is how you..."

"Shh, my son. I am so proud of you...You have a darling boy of your own now, and I could not be more pleased. We all love you," she concluded. It had been a struggle for her to speak to her dying child, though Isobel could in the direst of situations maintain composure.

Robert turned from the scene when his daughter leaned in to kiss Matthew's cheek. "Please...I am only half myself without -"

"Mary," Matthew interrupted. Cora, who sat on the sofa across from the one on which Matthew lay, began to cry; the terrifying, beautiful sight of the man who was to become the Earl of Grantham and her wan, frightened daughter was unbearable. Matthew continued with his gaze fixed upon the woman whom he had always loved so dreadfully. "You will have my family...your family...our son -"

"Please! Oh, please, Matthew, help me! I cannot...will not..." Mary's declaration was cut off by the touch of Matthew's bloodstained hand to her stomach, which was as far as he could reach. The baby wailed in Anna's arms, and Matthew turned his head slightly to see his beautiful son wrapped in cloths of the purest white.

"Bring him here," came the man's command. Anna, with no hesitation, brought the baby to place him in Mary's shaking arms.

Mary closed her eyes as Matthew's hand searched for the baby's head; it was obvious that his vision was rapidly depreciating in quality. "My son," he exhaled, then inhaled slowly, "is...to be called George." Mary enabled her vision once more and rocked the child as gently as she could manage. "He...has my love...and my blessing. And so does everyone in this room. Mother," Matthew called to Isobel, understanding that these were his last moments. "Thank you for raising me so well...I want you to watch over Mary and my son. Keep them -"

The man suddenly coughed up blood. Mary made the best effort to remain calm, but Edith's gasp and Violet's sniffling did not help. "Matthew," reasoned Mary, "Doctor Clarkson -"

"No," the man replied stiffly. He now wept, stroking the small head of his son and the arm of his wife. "I have no strength. You must...promise..."

"Matthew -"

"Promise to be my storm braver," he blurted finally. Robert, Cora, Edith, Tom (who had been as still as a statue), and Violet all knew that after the kisses given to his wife and son, Matthew Crawley was dead; Mary, however, would not accept this, and she continued to assure the body that she would not be able to live without him.

A teary-eyed Isobel was the first to speak: "God rest Matthew's soul. Let us allow Mary to be alone with him." The other members of the family obeyed, and Mary remained with the body and her son, shaking her head in disbelief and sobbing with the painful thought of carrying on without her Matthew.

The man had not only been the security for her future; he had been a faithful friend, loving husband, and – as she had briefly observed before he left – a wonderful father. Recalling her late husband cradling their son at the hospital, claiming that he had felt that he had swallowed a box of fireworks, more tears stung her already-wet face.

The smell of the dead body and dry blood did not bother her nose more than it did her hope. She got up with the baby and put him down on the opposing sofa, then walked without balance back to the couch with her husband. "Matthew," she panted, feeling the pressure of a thousand years on her chest, "I love you more than you know. I want you to see our son grow up...to be with the family...to be happy..." She could not speak any longer, though she had so many more things to tell the rested body that lay motionless on the sofa.

Mary began to lose proper eyesight, as her vision yielded blurriness and unusual colour. Realising that she was about to faint, Mary leaned further to rest her head on her husband's chest, and through her imagination, a rhythmic beat came from inside the man's body. The young George Crawley began to bawl, and Anna reentered the library; upon noticing Mary asleep, she lifted the child from the other couch and called the grieving Earl of Grantham to take the woman upstairs.


	2. PART TWO: The Family Reflects

From the library window, Robert timidly watched the body of Matthew Crawley leave Downton Abbey. It had been a treacherous night; Mary had stayed by her late husband's corpse through the dark hours of a passing day and the early hours of a new morning. It was, Robert predicted, going to be different without the modest, likable young solicitor – the man whom the Earl of Grantham had considered to be his son – and thus the sunrise on that next morning was symbolic of the present time.

Cora's thoughts had reflected not only on the loss of her son-in-law, but the tragic feelings that she knew her daughter faced. Cora had been startled by the panting, screaming, and sobbing that Mary had despairingly projected that strenuous and horrible night; the cries of the newborn and upset whining of Robert's dog had made the situation no better. Cora deeply sympathized for Mary; not only had the woman had to see her husband taken from her on the same day of her son's birth, but she had only just fit into the clothing of marriage – the clothing of happiness – with Matthew. To lose the very man about whom Mary had worried during the world war, the man whom Doctor Clarkson had proposed to never walk again, the man who had comforted his wife during the mourning of the woman's sister, was the worst possible outcome. Mary had truly loved Matthew, and she had meant every breath - every excruciating, startling, heart-filled, lively breath - to him. Surely Cora was dreaming!

And the baby – oh, how the Countess of Grantham hated to think of her fatherless grandson – was to live a childhood with only one parent, just like his cousin. To have not one but two children without one parent was almost incomprehensible.

First Sybil, then Matthew. _How has this happened? _Anna wondered. Having been very fond of the two late members of the family, the head housemaid now dreaded her occupation; how would she face Lady Mary now? Would the woman she had known for so long return to her pre-war self as that cold, selfish Mary? Anna imagined entering the room that had once been both Mr. Matthew and Lady Mary Crawley's bedroom to find that there only one of the two still resided. Mr. Matthew, she recalled, had been concerned for Lady Mary, and that had made him a trustworthy and therefore wonderful husband. It pained the head housemaid to picture the eldest Crawley daughter practically alone again, as she had been during the Great War.

Isobel likewise sympathized for her daughter-in-law, and it was _not_ simply because her late son had united with Mary that she felt the need to form a bond with the young woman. Isobel admired Mary when her daughter-in-law held Matthew's child – how Mary had smiled at the sight of the most wanted baby and how she had treasured those first jubilant moments with him – and this image would never leave her mind. Isobel was certain that it was her primary duty to help Mary and George Crawley through the present and in the future.

The staff that devotedly laboured at Downton Abbey was greatly affected by the abrupt and unexpected loss of Mr. Matthew Crawley, but Mr. Carson had perhaps the deepest and most intimate thoughts on the matter.

He had known Mary since she was born – and so had the woman's parents – but he felt that he and Mr. Crawley had understood her the most. Ever since the girl could walk and speak her mind, Carson had kept a fatherly eye on Mary; her actions had always been filled with a dignity and regality that he admired. The older man had admired Lady Edith for being well behaved, and he had on countless occasions acknowledged that Lady Sybil had a heart for others, but the eldest of the three Crawley children had inspired him the most. And that was why Charles Carson vowed to keep a fatherly eye now on George.

Mary had always given to Charles Carson the impression of a good leader. She was strong, composed, and intelligent; her humor had a quality that the man found to be invaluable. The nastiness and cruelty that Mary had tried on Edith had resulted from the fear of the loss of love and importance. Having been the firstborn, Mary's worries had always revolved around one thing, and that was the jealousy of one of her sisters.

Completely conscious of the fact that her father had wanted her to be a boy, Mary had striven to be just as impressive – if not more so – as a boy; Carson had felt sorry for her because she had so desperately desired the ultimate love and acceptance from Lord Grantham. So had the Earl given his eldest child care, yet the girl had obviously not received enough fatherly love from the man because she would constantly turn to Carson for that element that was not quite there. And so had Matthew given Mary a similar satisfaction of fatherly interest and pride. Except now that intimate, invaluable connection was gone.

Despite all of the conflict that summarized Edith and Mary's relationship, the younger Crawley daughter had wept the entire night of Matthew's death. Never had she felt so sympathetic for her sister and the poor, unaware child who had made his first appearance to the family during a most tragic - most unwanted - scene.

Edith had never been a terribly unkind person, but the competition that she had faced against her older sister had kindled a cold personality of her own. That night she imagined Mary in the library, crying on the deceased Matthew's chest; the words that Edith's sister had uttered hours before rung in her head: _"Please! Oh please, Matthew, help me!"_

It suddenly occurred to the young woman that she was the only living sister who remained to comfort and support Mary, and without Matthew by her sister's side, the woman would surely appreciate assistance with her newborn son. Edith wiped her tears and stared across the room at the looking glass; the reflection of a wan, disheveled young lady frightened her. The endurance of such a devastating afternoon had matured her greatly, and the sorrow from the unfortunate event was still visible in Edith's disheveled appearance.

Tom had escaped with little Sybil soon after Mr. Matthew Crawley had died. The grief had reminded him of the loss of his wife, and that had not been a cheerful memory; thus Mr. Branson had wanted to evade reality, to imagine the opposite ending for his sister-in-law, and to pretend that all was well.

The truth, however, was contrary: Matthew, the heir to the estate and Earldom, was gone. His child was the only hope for Downton's future to be in the name of the Crawley family. Tom's thoughts had immediately gone to Mary at the moment of Matthew's death; he realised that he and she were now with their children and without spouses, and this similarity in status gave Tom a sense of closeness to Mary. Now, he recognised, he would be raising his daughter in the same house in which Lady Mary Crawley would care for her son. _We will have to work together to run the estate,_ figured Tom. _We will grow fonder of one another than I would have imagined._ Considering his past, the former Irish radical could have laughed at the thought of him working alongside an English aristocrat.

The staff downstairs had not received the news of their future employer's death from Carson or Mrs. Hughes; rather, Anna had taken the initiative to go downstairs (on her way to Lady Mary's bedroom) to impart the dreadful words to the group. She still had the Crawley baby in her arms when she arrived in the servant's hall. "Everyone," she projected to all in the room – and that was the truth; all servants, even Carson, were present.

"This is Lady Mary's son...we arrived from the hospital earlier..." Anna's eyes filled with tears. Mr. Bates looked at his wife with trepidation, for he was not ready to hear the seemingly intolerable news that she was about to impart.

"Mr. Crawley has…died."

Gasps, widened eyes, and the shatter of the dessert plate that Mrs. Patmore had been holding resulted from the shocking statement. Anna had no hands to wipe the sorrowful tears from her eyes because she held the sleeping baby in her arms. Mrs. Hughes neared the head housemaid and gently touched the child's hair. "May the honourable man's life…be remembered through his child," she whispered slowly, yet the momentary silence in the room made her utterance audible.

Anna nodded and sniffed in an unladylike manner, rocking the boy and praying to the Lord to comfort Lady Mary and the family. She had no desire to return upstairs and face yet another era of grievance for a loved one, but she knew that the calm child would need to be reunited with his traumatized mother.

Carson took in a deep breath and sighed. "We must all treat the family with respect and kindness," he proposed as boldly as he could muster. It pained him to picture his favorite upstairs member of the house full of agony and depression as she mourned the tragic loss of her husband. As he neared Mrs. Hughes, Carson whispered, "And she just had her child."

Aware that the man referred to Lady Mary, the woman responded with a good heart: "No one should have to lose a spouse shortly after the birth of one's child. Not even Lady Mary."

Carson managed to move his lips into the minutest, most somber smile. He never would have dreamed of Mrs. Hughes admitting that Lady Mary did not deserve the slightest punishment for her notorious disagreeable nature. Deciding to leave the comment as it was, the man nodded and proceeded with his duties to the house.


	3. PART THREE: Matthew's Funeral

The funeral service of Matthew Crawley ensued with the thirty-one year-old's death by a short length of four days. The weather was hot, for it was the summer season of September, and only a few clouds accompanied the sun - nothing more.

Edith's heart sank when she realised that the church at which the funeral was to take place was the very first one she had shown to Matthew many years previous. Rose bushes surrounded the outside of the chapel and the stained glass windows around the building shined at this hour.

The brown casket had been placed at the front of the room, and a variety of summer flowers danced atop the shrouded box. Violet, Robert, Cora, Edith, Tom, and Sybil sat on the first pew of the left side of seats, while Mary and Isobel took the other front pew on the right wing. The fatherless baby boy slept soundly in his mother's lap, unaware that the service to commemorate his beloved father was about to begin.

Several families from the village attended the funeral to honour the man who had come around nine years ago with an estate waiting to be secured. Clarkson and many of the village hospital workers had made the time to attend this service, knowing that Mr. Crawley had supported and served them through the Great War.

Mary refused at first to look up from her child; she wanted not to see the seemingly unreal image of her husband's casket at the front of the church, and she definitely did not wish to remind herself that she was to be alone with her son for the rest of her days.

_Not alone_, she mused, _just without a husband._ Mary had not the slightest intention to marry another man, and she did not plan to change this silent vow. Her loyalty would always be to the only man with whom she had ever felt at home; Matthew had understood her as no one else had, and the woman was not about to shove his memory away with a substitute of another man.

The baby clenched his left hand and pressed it against his mother's arm. Mary closed her eyes and prayed that Matthew was beside her, smiling at and whispering to the child. Instead, Isobel told her daughter-in-law, "He is comfortable in your arms." She smiled and softly added, "I am grateful to you for being here to look after him."

Unsure of how to respond, Mary met Isobel's teary eyes and breathed, "I am grateful to you and him for being here to look after me."

"We will not leave you, Mary. Not for the slightest second." The older woman turned when the pastor's voice came from the back of the church.

During the beautifully written sermon, Mary wondered about the godparents of her son. _Edith should certainly be the godmother,_ she reasoned. As for the godfather, the woman desired with all her heart to have Tom Branson take the honour, but she wondered what her father would think of the scheme. Would she have his consent or his castigation for even thinking such a prospect to be acceptable or (better yet) appropriate?

Isobel brought Mary back to reality with the simple question, "Are you all right?" The organist, luckily, was playing the introduction to the hymn following the sermon.

Mary nodded, her eyes watery and her complexion pale from reminding herself about the loss of her husband. She wondered how she was, at that moment, able to retain her composure and logic while she sat before her dead husband, who was in an enclosed box that screamed "gone for now". She couldn't breathe for a moment because of how little air she had taken in; distractions had caused for her to pause in the middle of staring at the child in her arms. Isobel knew that nothing was right with her daughter-in-law, but she decided to sing the funeral hymn for the time being.

Indeed, the service had been beautifully done, but Mary's thoughts and feelings remained a mess as she reflected on the negativity of the matter: Matthew Crawley would never be able to cradle his son in his arms again.


	4. PART FOUR: Isobel and Mary

Cora, Robert, Edith, and Tom all wished that Mary would allow them the chance to welcome the baby into the family, but Anna continuously told them, "I am terribly sorry, but her Ladyship wishes to be alone right now."

The Dowager Countess could not stand this isolation that Mary had taken upon herself. Therefore the concerned grandmother decided to turn to the only person to whom Mary would listen.

Violet was softer than usual. She felt the need to provide for Cousin Isobel comfort and support - of course, her main reason for this was to use Isobel as a tool for Mary's sake. And so she went over to Crawley House uninvited.

When Mr. Molesley tried to reason with the Dowager Countess that Mrs. Crawley desired to be away from the family in her time of mourning, the old woman shook her head and pressed, "Surely, Molesley, we can make an exception to the rules this once."

Molesley, who felt extremely uncomfortable at the moment - not only by the loss of Mr. Matthew, but also by the awkwardness of the lady who stood balanced by a cane - decided to lead Violet into the parlor room. Isobel was not there; Molesley went to fetch her, and when he returned with a teary-eyed woman, Violet rose from the couch. "My dear Isobel. You must be surprised to see me here on such a day."

Isobel noticed that Violet had directed her attention to the photograph of Matthew on the side table. Prompting the Dowager's speech - and to refrain from allowing grief to break her composure - she offered, "And to what do I owe this surprise?"

"Mary will not come down from her room," Violet explained. "She is hurt from the loss of your son, and I believe that your company would do her credit." The Dowager Countess shifted in her seat on the sofa whilst Molesley came by with a tray of biscuits. She gladly accepted one and the man moved on to his employer, who shook her head.

"I am sure that Mary is feeling similar to the way I do," she reasoned, "because we have both lost a dear person, and I do not blame her for staying out of sight. In a way," Isobel continued, "I admire her for doing so… It reminds me that she cared deeply for my son." Isobel smiled sadly as she spoke, proud to realise that another person had truly appreciated Matthew Crawley.

Violet raised her eyebrows rather than to return a defensive comment. She disagreed that Mary's intended act of isolation was admirable; rather, she thought it to be unhealthy for the young woman, especially since Mary had very recently given birth, which meant that she was already fatigued.

Isobel's next assertion seemed coincidental to what the Dowager was thinking: "After all, I cannot imagine how difficult it would be to have a child and soon after to lose my husband." She noticed Violet's startled facial expression, most likely due to the way Isobel had proceeded with the conversation.

Collecting her thoughts, Violet announced, "I suppose that my journey here has been a waste."

"I shall go to see her, of course," Isobel assured the older woman. "It is my duty to care for my daughter-in-law, especially now. Thank you, Cousin Violet." The two women stood from their seats and Mr. Molesley led the Dowager Countess out of the drawing room. Isobel arranged with the chauffeur a trip to the abbey. Within a half hour, she was on her way.

...

Mary wept on her bed, her face covered in the soft quilt. Her husband was gone, and yet she was presumptuous that he would enter the room to provide comfort as he always had done. Matthew Crawley had been Mary's protection - she had always felt unsafe without him - and she likewise was his stick on which the man depended from day to night.

As she began to recollect herself, Mary sat up from the bed and her eyes searched the room for something that screamed "Matthew!" When she sighted the small dog that she had given to him during the war, the woman rose and went to pick up the item from the top of the dresser. It seemed to disappoint rather than to calm her, whereupon the widow put it back down and wandered into her late husband's former dressing room. In the darkness Mary knew that her son lay somewhere in a crib, engrossed in slumber. She sighed, wiping the wetness from her eyes and her face; her precious child's presence caused her to wonder whether she should be upset or glad. She had, after all, successfully given birth to this boy, which was a blessing unto the estate of Downton.

Her heart felt pierced when she realised that Matthew would not be able to see his son grow into a fine young man, and the thought of a fatherless child continuing the estate business on his own punished the woman. _Why does this happen to _my_ son?_ she wondered aimlessly, though it was much more thoughtful considering the fact that she had put her child before herself. Not poor _Mary_ (even though that was an accurate statement), poor George.

A knock on the door startled the grieving woman, but the person outside the room was she whom Mary had expected. "Mary, it's Isobel. May I -"

"Of course," the younger woman broke in. "The door is unlocked." Mary tried to regain her composure, but tears continued to cloud her vision. Isobel slowly opened the door - knowledgeable of her daughter-in-law's state of mind - so as not to enter informally.

"I hope this is a convenient time," continued Isobel, closing the door behind her. She, too, appeared pale and in need of comfort. Mary nodded to her mother-in-law and gradually lifted herself up from the bed. "Please, no need to get up for me," protested the other.

"I would rather we go in there," Mary asserted, directing Isobel to the dressing room. Her son had not yet awakened, but Mary was certain that she and Isobel would not disturb him. She led them into the room and decided to pull up the shades for sufficient sunlight. Isobel smiled sadly and made her way toward the crib, in which her grandson lay asleep.

"What a dear," she whispered, turning her gaze from the baby to Mary. "It still strikes me as a surprise that he is my grandson."

Mary's lips curved into a smile for only a few seconds; she was not upset by Isobel's comment, but it made her remember the present situation: this was the only child of the late Matthew Crawley.

Feeling that any further pause in acknowledgement of her mother-in-law's statement would cause unease, the woman managed to reply, "So many things still strike me as surprising."

"Many things happen so suddenly, my dear, whether we approve of them or not. In our case, the fact remains that this child needs our love and care."

Mary pondered this for a moment and acknowledged, "Thank you for saying 'our'."

Isobel's countenance softened and she replied, "Of course; you are not alone in this, Mary. I am here to help you, and not simply because your son is my grandson." Isobel walked over to Mary and put her hands on the other's arms. "I remember how dearly Matthew loved you, and so I am afraid that whether you like my company or not, I am here to continue the duty of caring for you and your son."

Mary laughed through her tears. _Of course I am not alone!_ As she embraced Isobel, Mary felt as if Matthew were there, his perfect touch warming her heart. Crying in her mother-in-law's arms would not have been an ideal action to the former Mary, but such a thing mattered not anymore. She wondered why such minuscule factors in life - such as embracing in tears - had mattered to her, when countless other misfortunes were possible. Losing Matthew was such a misfortune that the woman realised how naïve she had been for so long, even after marriage, after feeling so much older, after discovering the reality of life.

"Thank you for being here," acknowledged Mary brightly, not quite disengaging herself from Isobel's embrace. The older woman silently wept too; for it had, after all, been her son who had died. Even those who were as strong and as cheerful as Isobel could never remain untouched by a loss.

"I feel that I do not deserve your ardent care," continued Mary, looking Isobel directly in the eyes. "If there is anything that I can do for you -"

Isobel shook her head. "You see, Mary, comfort goes both ways; being here with you and your son has given me strength more than sorrow. And," she added, squeezing Mary's hand, "you must learn to think of me as a mother. _Your_ mother."

"Thank you," whispered Mary, moved by the compassion of this woman whom she accompanied. In the midst of her grief she smiled and proceeded: "I am touched by your words, Isobel."

The older woman's eyes sparkled. She turned toward George. "You have given me this boy by whom I can cherish the memory of my son. My wonderful boy..."

Mary studied the face of her mother-in-law; she had expected it to be grave and wistful, but instead it glowed with pride. Whereupon the younger woman picked up her child and asked, "Would you like to hold him?"

Isobel gladly consented, taking her squirming grandson into her older, experienced arms. Mary was most surprised when the baby ceased to make any noise, and Isobel commented on this: "He is already so well behaved."

Mary grinned. "I am quite sure that he will have his father's manners; mine should not be boasted about nor desired." Isobel did not comment, but rather continued to smile at the little Crawley whom she rocked back and forth in her arms. The child's mother heavily sighed and touched the baby's forehead. "I better get some rest before dinner. I am sure that they all want me there, after having avoided to go down for days on end." Mary looked up at Isobel, prepared to hear a query about her actions.

"But don't you need more time away from all of the commotion?" came the unpredictable question.

Mary frowned. "I thought you'd wonder..."

At that moment, her son revealed his brilliant blue eyes, whereupon Mary openly smiled and whispered, "George Crawley. Matthew…he chose the perfect name..." The two women took a moment to admire the child, who gazed attentively at them.

"Truly, Mary, I advise that you remain in here tonight. If you can recall, you have had little rest between giving birth and now. I hope that you see my reason -"

"Of course I do, and I am so glad for it," replied Mary politely, "but when you go downstairs, would you please ask our family to pardon me tonight?"

Isobel returned the baby to his mother's arms and assured her daughter-in-law, "I most certainly will." The two walked out of the dressing room and Mary reopened the bedroom door.

Isobel spoke one last time: "Please do get some rest, Mary, and I will make it my obligation to help you with the baby as often as I can."

With an exchange in cordial gestures from the two women, Isobel left the room and Mary closed the door.


	5. PART FIVE: Edith, Robert and Mary

Edith wanted to try her luck with her mourning sister; she felt that Mary would not disapprove of her presence, but perhaps desire more time alone. Nevertheless, the younger sister ambled about the house until she reached the door leading to her destination.

It was twelve o'clock in the afternoon, and although Mary should have been downstairs by this time for luncheon, the woman obviously had decided to skip the meal with the family. Edith knocked on the door and assured her sister, "It's only me, Mary. I wanted to see you."

Mary went to open door. She was still not the usually composed and intimidating Mary Crawley whom the family knew too well; a weak braid held her hair together, and the attire that she donned was not suitable for an aristocratic luncheon. Edith had expected this change in tune from her widowed sister, which was why it came as no surprise; she simply admitted, "I miss you an awful lot. So does everyone. But that is not why I am here."

Mary let her sister in the room and walked over to the window, which displayed a beautiful autumn day of sunshine and multicoloured leaves on trees. "Life goes on," she reflected, "even when the worst has happened."

Edith made the best effort to be kind. "Unfortunately, that it true...but we are never alone."

At this statement, Mary turned to face her sister. She did not speak harshly; rather, her words left her mouth with pure wonder: "Are we, Edith? Because sometimes I think… How can we be so sure that others understand what we feel?"

The younger sister was, at first, in a quandary over Mary's question. How _could_ anyone know for certain that others understood another's feelings? She soon realised that knowing for certain was irrelevant; all that the anguished person would see was another human being reaching out and explaining that they _did_ understand.

Edith responded: "Mary, we can never be sure. The good thing is that we do not need to be because all that matters is that someone is there for you, wanting to help."

Mary silently honoured the fact that her sister had indirectly confessed her willingness to provide comfort. "You will help me, then?" Mary omitted the second part that would have questioned Edith's capability to help anyone, let alone her older sister.

"Of course I will. When we lost dear Sybil, you and I thought that we would still continue to quarrel. Now, I think contrarily...because things have changed for both of us." She offered a smile to her sister, which alerted Mary, for she would not have guessed that Edith would ever want to give her a kind gesture. "Do not look surprised, Mary."

"Please, I do not deserve -"

"Oh, Mary," burst Edith, sighing and slightly rolling her eyes. "Of course that has no meaning in all of this. Besides, having a nephew is a priceless gift to me! Surely you can agree with that."

Mary considered this, simultaneously wondering whether the time was appropriate to ask her sister to be her son's godmother. She chose not to wait any longer: "Edith… I do agree, and upon understanding that you think so, I wondered if you might be his godmother."

Edith's lips parted and her eyes widened. "Truly? Why, I wouldn't decline such an offer in a lifetime!"

The unexpected followed: Mary smiled, drew closer to her sister, and they embraced. The tears that formed in - but not spilled from - their eyes were not of grief, but of jubilation. "It feels as if almost everything has changed, especially how we interact," commented Edith.

Mary chuckled and replied, "I wouldn't call that unfortunate."

"No, absolutely not," came the other's response. Edith sighed and concluded with a query: "You are sure, then, that you will not come down to eat with us? Papa is dying to see you."

"I am sure he is, though I am afraid that I cannot present myself until tomorrow. I feel exhausted...from everything. If Papa wishes to see me before then, however, he may come."

Edith nodded, understanding that further argument would not do her or her sister justice. "All right. We will miss you, but I am glad to know that you will make an appearance tomorrow."

Mary bid her sister well, and once again the woman was alone in her room.

...

Robert had received the message from his youngest living daughter with mixed emotion. A small part of him felt guilty that he had not gone to visit Mary or her son for even the slightest minute since their arrival at Downton that horrendous September afternoon.

On the other side of his contrary mind, the man could not believe how wonderful it was for Mary to wish for his company. She rarely had gone to her father's room while married, and when she had been unmarried the time that the two had spent together amounted to practically nothing. To be asked to come by his eldest daughter, Robert mused, was a privilege.

On top of the guilt and elation, the man was fearful, too. He had not yet had the chance to hold his grandson - not even during the seemingly eternal funeral of the child's father - and this brought anxiety to Robert. How would he face the wonderful heir to the title of earl, the savior of the estate? This newborn knew not of his importance to the Crawley family, especially to Lord Grantham. _What will it be like,_ wondered the seventh earl, _to hold the future in my arms?_

Dawdling through the upstairs portion of his house, he tried to recollect himself and to focus on the main objective of his meeting with Mary: to provide whatever she needed from or of him.

Robert came into contact with a bedroom door that was ajar; opening it further, his eyes searched for his eldest daughter. Of course, she was in the dressing room, tending to her child. Mary wore a nightgown despite the afternoon hour, and her hair freely flowed as she walked out of the connecting room into the main one. "Papa," she interjected, her entire body having slightly recoiled from the shock. "I thought you wouldn't come."

"To be honest, my dear, I had planned to come tomorrow. But something told me not to wait any longer." Robert smiled and asked, "May I please hold my grandson?"

"I wondered when you might ask," commented the woman, moving closer to her father and letting her child rest in the other's welcoming arms. She stared at Robert as he held George, and when the tears clouded the man's eyes, she blinked and recalled, "I remember a time when you thought you would never have an heir."

"But thank goodness I do," came the chuckling response. "He's beautiful...so beautiful...and I feel that I am going to erupt with jubilation." This was truly how Robert could describe his feelings at that moment. What a relief, a shock, an invaluable moment for him. Matthew's son continued to look at his grandfather with such sweet, tranquil blue eyes. Mary shivered. Robert continued to praise the child: "I think that we can expect a great future with this one in charge. I can now rest in peace."

"Surely, Papa, your time is far from near. For heaven's sake, you are only in your fifties!" Mary's declaration made her father laugh, and he admonished his daughter for causing him to do so while managing a delicate form of life.

For a while, the three simply remained in their current positions, still as statues and thoughts bouncing in all sorts of directions. When George finally made a faint sound, Robert awoke from his daydreaming and asked, "You wanted me here because...?"

"I wanted your company, of course," replied Mary, speaking in a tone that assumed her rationale to be obvious to anyone. "I also wanted you to be with George."

"Of course" was all that the Earl of Grantham could press himself to utter. It was unbearable, he felt, to stand there before his widowed, young daughter. She had not deserved to endure so many years of pain in watching Matthew go out to serve in the war, then for him to return to her home with another to marry, and then to suddenly fall with a back injury. _How had she kept herself moving? _Robert wondered, the old tears sliding down his cheeks. _And how will she survive now, without Matthew?_

"This one reminds me of his father very much, Papa." Mary took her son from Robert's arms and sat on the foot of her bed. "Sometimes...I wonder how I will be able to do this without him..." The woman gently brought her son up to her chest and laid his head against her shoulder. She suddenly felt the need to weep, and to her it mattered not was present in the room.

Robert remained standing at first, but once Mary ceased to show strength, he sat next to her and put his hand on her cheek. "I am so sorry, my dear...for all of it. But never -" he brought Mary's chin up for her to make eye contact with him - "never think that you cannot come to me. I love you, Mary, and I know that I have poorly demonstrated this -"

"Oh, Papa," Mary cut in, eyebrows furrowing at the sound of her father's words. "That is not true. In coming here..." She struggled to form the rest of the sentence that was about to slip from her lips. "...You have made me feel so loved...I never would have imagined such an event of you coming in here to see me…and George, of course."

Robert gave in to a soft smile. "I am glad that you appreciate this, and I am most pleased to know that I have been of some use to you..."

"Oh, Papa..." Mary rolled her eyes. _How many times will he put himself down? _her mind questioned.

Baby George squirmed in his mother's arms so much that it startled Mary. "Oh!" she whispered after realizing what had truly happened. "I think you have lasted too long without sustenance. Wouldn't you agree, Papa?" asked Mary, turning to Robert with a grin.


	6. PART SIX: Dinner

Tom Branson had not yet paid a visit to his sister-in-law and nephew; hence he planned to ask Mary about it after dinner the following day.

Mary Crawley had become a celebrity since she had been absent for several days at breakfast, luncheon, and dinner. Robert and Cora had invited the Dowager Countess, Rosamund, and Isobel to the big house for the evening repast; the family was more eager to see Mary and George than to eat.

With due respect to her grandmother, Mary went out into the warm, comfortable night to greet Violet as she arrived by car. The Dowager Countess slowly exited the vehicle; naturally, however, she soon picked up the pace in exhilaration upon seeing her granddaughter. "My dear, how it does me well to see your face again."

The other managed a grin, though her internal thoughts brought her back to the arrival at Downton shortly before realizing her husband's deadly condition. "Do come in, Granny," Mary professed.

Tom was in the entryway when Violet and Mary entered the abbey. "Good evening, Lady Grantham," he politely acknowledged, nodding to the older woman.

"Hello, Tom. How is your daughter today? Last night was terribly hard for her." Carson walked over to take Violet's coat. "Thank you, Carson," the woman told him.

Tom continued the conversation: "She is well, thank you. It _is_ quite normal for children of her age to fall ill for one moment and to be fine the next."

"Well, we hope that she retains her good health; we certainly would not want Mary's son to catch something." The Dowager Countess turned to Mary and put a hand on her arm. "Shall we make our way to the drawing room?"

After Tom and Mary's consent, Mary intentionally walked slowly to speak with Tom. "Sorry about her comment; sometimes she forgets that her speech can be interpreted in the wrong way."

Tom shook his head and warmly smiled at his sister-in-law. "Think nothing of it - please. I am used to Lady Grantham's ways now, and I regret to admit that I rather admire her sense of boldness when it comes to speaking her opinion." Mary chuckled and accompanied her brother-in-law into the drawing room, momentarily relieved from her misery.

The family made its way into the dining room. Everyone - from Cora to Tom - was engaged in thorough conversation. For the first time since before Matthew's death, Downton's atmosphere was _pleasant._

As each found their chair at the grand dining room table, Rosamund questioned to Mary, "How is the baby?"

Mary noticed that her aunt's countenance was solemn, and it was evident that the woman was concerned - perhaps more than anyone had expected.

"He is not ill, which is a positive, anyway," asserted Mary, attempting to lead the conversation away from anything emotional. "In fact, I would like for you all to see him tonight, after dinner."

"Carson, could you start with the main dish," complained Violet, "because I cannot bear this wait to see my great-grandson." Carson nodded and acted accordingly. Robert quietly smiled and turned to his mother, who occupied the opposite side of the dining table adjacent to Tom and Cora.

"I don't think any of us can wait," remarked Edith, her best wishes to compliment Mary and the baby. "George is the sweetest little boy I have ever known." All who were seated at the table nodded in agreement.

"Of course, there have been no other boys with whom to compare ours," Robert reminded all, "since we've only seen girls come out of this house for the past thirty years." Cora shot her husband a look of admonishment; had the man not realised that the subject of heirs was not suitable, considering the death of the man who had been prepared for the position?

"The boy will be a perfect friend for Sybil," offered Isobel, her desire being to veer from the topic of negativity that Robert had brought to discussion. She turned to Branson. "Do you think so, Tom?"

"I do; Sybbie all ready wants to visit George. I am sure that they will grow very close over the years." He made sure that he had locked eyes with Mary, which startled the woman at first. Her secondary reaction was a genuine smile, and this pleased Tom beyond words. It meant the world to him that he was able to cheer his sister-in-law.

"It will be great fun to watch the two children grow up here at Downton," sighed Cora. "It still surprises me to realise that I have grandchildren!"

Robert was not warmed by his wife's speech; in fact, he coughed when she had uttered the word "grandchildren." _What has come over you?_ he chastised himself, for his actions were bound to affect all those around him. Mary looked up from her plate and asked, "Is everything all right, Papa?"

"Please forgive me; I am being silly." Isobel, too, averted her gaze from her meal to the abashed Earl of Grantham. The family returned to their plates, motivated to get out of the uncomfortable dining room to see George.

...

The trip down the flight of stairs seemed an eternity for Mary; countless memories of the various periods of her life flashed through her mind simultaneously, arousing most unwanted emotion. In the midst of this, she held her son closely to her chest, and although he had no idea of the images that passed through his mother's head, he did feel that she was distraught.

The first memory of the grand staircase was when she, Mary Crawley, drifted down the steps with the similar presence of an angel; the silk veil that had guarded her purity had not yet been removed by the only man she had ever loved.

Then came the childhood memory of her running up the stairs in search of her younger sister, Edith, when her mother and father appeared at the top of the stairway; they had very happy news: another baby was on its way. Mary believed that this had been a highlighted moment in her earlier years due to the loss of that same youngest sister, for whom the woman had always felt protective and responsible.

The third flashback was of her looking down at Evelyn Napier, who mentioned the death of the Turkish diplomat, Kemal Pamuk. How she had wished with desperation that the man's name not be spoken, for her heart had found room to store the lust for the young guest. Her black-and-white-striped dress stood out as the outside sun shone on her guilty image; truly, she realised, it was symbolic that she had donned such attire when, in reality, her internal thoughts and feelings were black and white. It had been a long, most unwanted night...

Mary's steps grew heavy as she reverted focus to her present task, which was to safely carry her son down the historic flight of stairs. She realised that she had come to the end of the timeline sooner than expected, whereupon she sighed and made her way for the library.

"Mary, we were beginning to wonder where you were; it has been difficult to wait for George," Robert admitted to his daughter, standing now as she entered the room.

"Bring him over here, my dear," Violet commanded. Edith, who sat next to her grandmother, silently admonished her for being harsh with Mary.

Isobel and Cora both rose instinctively, ready to assist Mary in any way possible. Mary, overwhelmed by the crowd that was her family, gave her son to her mother - Cora had been the closest to her, after all - and went over to Tom. These days, Mary inferred, she drifted more toward her brother-in-law than she ever would have imagined.

Robert and Rosamund neared Cora, who stood calming the child. The Dowager Countess hurried over to partake in the feast of joy.

Tom leaned in to whisper to Mary. He jostled, "From now on, you can expect the others to be with your son for half of the day. They'll just rely on you to do the hard work." He smiled at her and she returned the gesture with a chuckle.

"I am afraid that I am too exhausted even to care about that," she confessed. "Spending the day outside of my room has tired me out." Tom's sincere, blue eyes offered understanding, for which Mary was most thankful. "I want to ask you something once you and I can be released from the chains of entertaining the guests."

Tom shook his head and sighed. "I still wonder why your people consider the closest of family to be guests. You might understand that if you remember my brother Kieran -"

"Yes, I remember him - very much so," recalled Mary. "But I do agree with you anyway, and I hope that in the future we will revise that custom."

Before Tom could respond, Rosamund called, "Come over here, Mary and Tom. We want for everyone to be together, and not separate."

Mary beamed at her brother-in-law and they obeyed. Violet was now holding the baby, and Edith averted her eyes to find Mary. "Look at how well-behaved George is with Granny, Mary!"

The other raised her eyebrows and remarked, "I am glad to see that he has all ready learned to respect Granny." At this, Robert and Rosamund laughed, in agreement with the statement. Violet, too, nodded and whispered, "He earned my respect from the moment he came into my arms."

Isobel felt a tear swell in her right eye, but she quickly blinked the sadness away from her thoughts. Compiling her strength, she reflected, "This boy's father would have been very pleased." Mary nodded in agreement, and to her utter amazement, she felt no pain upon hearing the mention of her late husband.

The succeeding moments were filled with joy as Mary Crawley studied each unique, excited face that took her son into their welcoming arms. _Surely, she mused, my child and I are in good hands._


	7. PART SEVEN: George in Danger

After Rosamund, Isobel, and Violet had departed the big house, Mary and Tom made sure to stay in the library while the remaining people went to bed. Anna had taken young George Crawley to Mary's bedroom.

Mary finished her tea and slowly walked to the sofa, where Tom sat in contemplation. Should he tell his sister-in-law what he ached to mention? _Will she be all right with me asking this?_ wondered Branson. The more he considered it, the worse he felt about speaking to Mary; thus the man took a faithful step in stating, "I wanted to begin with the whole reason I wanted to keep you here." Mary nodded to Tom, whereupon he proceeded: "It is about us - that is, you, me, and the children." He paused to lean back comfortably. "I understand what it is like to raise a child alone, and I am willing to help you with your son, just as you do with my daughter. And it is not only for my late wife's sake that I offer this, though I am aware of how highly Sybil thought of you." Mary sadly smiled.

Tom continued: "I also tell you this because I know you now, and I had the opportunity to know Matthew. The two of you were extremely supportive of me and my daughter, especially when others doubted me."

"It was our duty, as well as our privilege, Tom," Mary admitted; her serious tone of voice asserted how much she hoped her brother-in-law would believe her.

Tom grinned. "It was you I have to thank for keeping Sybil close to her mother's side of the family. You provided her with Crawley influence."

"I am sure that her mother would have introduced her to politics and the excitement of the outside world," Mary mused, "but I am afraid that all I have ever talked to your daughter about are gardens and clothes." They both laughed at this, and at about the same moment Carson entered the library with a message:

"Milady, his lordship would like for you to meet him in your ladyship's bedroom - that is, once you have bid Mr. Branson a good night."

"Very well, Carson, thank you," acknowledged Mary, and the butler nodded before disappearing through the slightly ajar library door. Tom looked back at his sister-in-law and prompted, "That is all I had to -"

"Wait! I wanted to ask you something quite relevant to this conversation." Mary tried to calm herself from the growing excitement building inside her. _If Tom consents_, she decided, _all will be as it should _-

"I'm listening," he pressed her. It was obvious that Mary was about to impart a favor.

"I know that there is discord between your Roman Catholic faith and the Anglican Church, but I hope that this factor will not be an obstacle in making your final decision -"

"I will, if you're asking what I think you are," Tom broke in. "You want me to be George's godfather?"

Mary was taken aback. She had anticipated for her brother-in-law to swallow her question with unease. She did not respond immediately, which brought uncertainty about Branson. "You _were_ going to ask that…?"

"Yes! I am sorry, Tom, but it shocked me..." she could not continue. To her good fortune, the man understood completely. He stood from his seat and took a few steps to put an arm on Mary's shoulder. "I am honoured, Mary, and I do thank you for allowing me to partake in this privilege. It does not bother me that little George is being baptized into the Anglican Church because I know that his father would have wanted it to be that way."

The woman had trouble with forming words. "…Thank you for being so supportive, Tom; I do appreciate it."

"I am well aware of that, and it is for that reason that I give you my full respect." He smiled at his sister-in-law, bid her a good night, and left the library in a matter of seconds. _He will be a good businessman,_ Mary decided. _His assertiveness does him credit._

For once, Mary felt that she could really trust Tom Branson.

"Papa," greeted Mary, "has my son been crying? Is that why you are here?"

"My darling daughter," began Robert, "I am terribly sorry to have interrupted you and Tom; there is something of which I wanted to you to take note." He motioned to her to follow him into the dimly lit dressing room.

George lay in his crib, quite calm; Mary wondered what exactly her father wanted her to see. "What is it? Is there something wrong?" She turned to face her father, but his countenance still appeared certain that there was a problem. "Papa?" she urged.

"If we remain silent for a moment, we might be able to hear it," Robert vaguely responded. Mary obeyed, though her father's reasoning confused her.

Suddenly she heard it: an abnormal breathing pattern came from her son's lungs. _Oh, no,_ she thought to herself. She dreaded the idea of leaving her child in the hospital for weeks on end to allow time for the lungs to gain full confidence. George had been born premature, she reminded herself, and that brought many unwanted cards to the table.

"Do you hear it?" Robert questioned his daughter. He reached into the crib to touch the baby's cheek. "I hope it is nothing serious -"

"It will be, just wait and see," Mary cut in. "We should take him to Doctor Clarkson right now."

"Are we absolutely certain that there is something wrong? After all, it's already -"

"Papa, this is Matthew's son! I don't care a thing about the time of night! Right now I need you to call Doctor Clarkson and tell him that my son has troubled breathing. Hurry, or I fear that it will only get worse!" Mary's own lungs had to work harder to balance the anxiety she felt at this moment. How could her life possibly have another problem?


	8. PART EIGHT: The Hospital

"Is there any other way? If there is, please do what is necessary!" Lord Grantham beseeched Doctor Clarkson. He could feel the burden of his age as the late hours of the night punished him.

The doctor had advised that Mary bring the baby to the village hospital, as everything there would benefit what procedures would need ensue. Doctor Clarkson shook his head and made his confession unto both the wan grandfather and the teary-eyed mother. "This is the only known operation. The child was born premature, Lord Grantham; due to that and current circumstances, we must perform surgery, and quickly."

"Doctor, I understand that you are a professional in the medical field, but I wonder one who specializes -"

"Lord Grantham," interrupted Clarkson. "I am sorry - to both of you - but I am afraid that this is the only way." The two other pairs of eyes that met the doctor's face provided no assurance that they believed his statement, whereupon Clarkson called Isobel Crawley into the hospital room. "Mrs. Crawley will agree with me, I promise you."

Isobel did not want to imagine her tiny grandson underneath the operating hands of the doctor and nurses, but she had to affirm Clarkson's decision: "I think that we face a misfortune, and that something must be done... We have to let the doctor do what is necessary." She went over to Mary and rubbed a comforting hand on the woman's arm.

Still trying to convince herself that her son did not have to endure an intense lung surgery, Mary confirmed, "So nothing else can be done? There is no other option?" Doctor Clarkson merely shook his head, and there existed deep sorrow in his eyes.

Cora, Edith, Tom, and even Anna stood outside the hospital room impatiently, eager to hear from someone on the other side of the wall. Most opportunely, before Tom decided that he would leave so as to return to his daughter, Robert turned the knob of the door and led the three adults into the room. "An operation must be performed," he confessed gravely.

…

Mary's gaze lifted from her son, who lay on the bed next to her family. All that she could do was to stare in amazement that so many cared about her child. Such care reminded her that Matthew was absent from that picture of deep intimacy between the members of the family, and Mary inhaled suddenly.

Cora noticed her daughter from opposite the hospital room. Tom came over to Mary and the baby, yet he spoke not a thing; rather, the man simply remained with an arm around his sister-in-law.

Edith also neared Mary and softly whispered, "We all love you both very much." Edith concluded with a kiss on Mary's cheek.

Before another word could be spoken, the head nurse came into the room and announced that the operation would begin in minutes, meaning that all visitors would have to leave the room. Mary remained on the side of the bed on which her son lay. "Are you not leaving with your family, Lady Mary?" Doctor Clarkson inquired, slightly confused. _On the contrary_, he thought, _it is in the woman's character to wish to stay._ He recalled the Great War with a slight pain, remembering Mary's determination to remain at a Matthew's side whilst the man recovered from injury.

Robert, Cora, and Edith had not quite left the room when Mary responded to the doctor, "I apologize for the inconvenience, Doctor, but I think you could agree that, were my son to endure the operation at Downton, I would rather be at his side until all was quite through. I can assure you that I would make it no burden on you for sheltering me through this night, while George undergoes the procedure -"

"Of course you may stay," Clarkson prompted. "Shall we transport everything to a bigger room where you may sleep alongside your son?" Mary nodded and acknowledged the beneficence of the doctor.

…

"Mama, I will not catch any sort of cold here," assured an exhausted Mary to her anxious mother. Robert put the quilt over Mary's body, which now lay in an uncomfortable cot. The woman did not care about her necessities, however; her needs were now those of her son, and she was not about to complain about the poor quality of the bed.

Edith came over to the bed once more. "Come, Mama and Papa. Mary needs her rest, and so do we. In fact, the nurse appears ready to begin the operation, so we had better leave." She gave Mary a hopeful smile and squeezed the hand of her sister. "Please dream of better things tonight," she reminded.

"I think you mean 'morning,' my dear," commented Mary, referring to the fact that the clock had struck twelve minutes ago. Cora chuckled. Robert was thankful that his daughter could retain a sense of humor at such a time.

"Goodbye, my dear, and please telephone if you need anything." Cora gave a final kiss to Mary, and Robert did likewise; suddenly, however, Mary stopped her mother from leaving the room:

"Mama," she called right before her mother was out the door.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Please stay a moment more."

Cora sighed and returned to her daughter's bedside. She could hear Mary's heavy breathing pattern.

"Are you nervous for him?" questioned Cora, though she quickly knew that this was a silly thing to ask.

Mary did not roll her eyes, nor did she sound irked in her answer. "Yes… Perhaps it is the fact that I cannot control the pain that will pass through my son's body...oh, Mama, he is too _young_ to undergo something such as this! I know it must be so, but I cannot come to approval..." She looked into the understanding eyes of her wise mother, which instantly triggered emotion; never before had she truly recognised such understanding and accord from Cora.

The older agreed. "It is hard to see your own child face such scary things. It hurts - it really does. But you know what, my darling?" She touched Mary's cheek. "Little George is going to do so well. Doctor Clarkson knows what he is doing, and while this may not be the choicest means of procedure, it will relieve the stress from your son's body. I call that in itself a blessing."

Mary closed her eyes to ponder these words for a moment. She had not the intention to put her son through an intense and dangerous operation for nothing, so she knew that she must have let this happen for the benefit of George. _He will be able to breathe, _she thought happily._  
_

"I am terribly sorry to interrupt, your ladyship, but it is time to operate," one of the nurses announced to Mary. Cora gave one last kiss and word of encouragement to her daughter before departing the hospital. Robert let his eyes wander to the sight of his heir presumptive on the operating table; the child was helpless, yet at the brink of being helped. He wondered why such straining episodes of panic and sorrow had to invade his family's lives once more, but the latter of his conflicting personalities repeated words of encouragement to him. He had an heir - well, he had had a different one days ago, though that one was now deceased - and Downton's future was still secure.

All that the Earl of Grantham could imagine was the shining face of his grandson at the age of twenty-five, wandering the various paths around the estate with pride flowing because all was well. _Let us hope that such a vision can become a reality,_ he mused.

…

Mary awoke when the sun had already reached its apogee in the sky. She turned her body to the left, still finding comfort in the warmth of the quilt that covered her. The woman had instinctively averted her gaze to this side of the room because she knew that her son would be in the petite, elevated hospital bed across the room. Not until she realised that it was late in the afternoon did she understand why the child did not rest in that very bed; the nurses were most probably tending to his needs.

Drained of energy ever still, Mary gradually lifted herself off of the cot; her back instantly ached from the horribly uncomfortable spine of the bed. The hospital was unusually quiet, and for a moment the woman questioned whether she was dreaming.

So much had transpired since the previous day: Mary had asked Tom if he would be the child's godfather; her son had begun to display a discomfort in breathing; _and_ she had decided to remain at the hospital - to remain with _George._ Such a series of events caused her to question whether it was worth living without her balance, her saving grace, her antidote to the troubles of her world: the late Matthew Crawley. How would she brave the storm without him? Mary's strength in the past was, she believed, that the solicitor's presence and cheeriness had helped her through hardship; with what, then, would she succeed without her foundation for composure and stature? The more she reflected on the day of her George's birth and her husband's death, the more Mary was fascinated by how boldly she had acted. Of course she had not escaped that nightmare without screams and tears, but she had _survived_.

Much to her assurance that all surrounding her was reality, Mary's mother-in-law turned the knob on the door and peeked into the room. "Oh! You _are_ awake, then."

Mary knew it to be a relief that Isobel was smiling and composed; this meant that little George had lived through the operation, and for this the new mother exhaled a sigh of relief.

"I am sorry I slept late," Mary apologized. Isobel entered the small room and closed the door behind her. "Please do not apologize," came the reply.

"Have they not finished with the baby?" Mary wondered. She engaged herself in a delicate embrace with Isobel, who was quite aware of her daughter-in-law's condition of recovery. The older woman shook her head and replied to the concerned mother:

"No, but George is done with the worst part; Doctor Clarkson has had a nurse to keep an eye on him at the moment. They asked me to see if you were awake -"

"Oh, Isobel, had I known -"

"All is well, my dear," the other cut in. "After all, you needed your rest."

Mary could not disagree with her mother-in-law, but her worries persisted to surround her son. "Did everything go as planned?" she asked.

Isobel nodded. "Very well, according to Clarkson. As it always goes in these cases, the baby will have to stay here for a week, as he needs vigilant care and a special means of nutrition. His lungs have to develop even faster since they had not done so before he was born." She sighed and looked Mary directly in the eyes. "You did the right thing in bringing him here last night. Had he not been in a place with proper equipment..."

Mary put a hand on Isobel's arm. "Then let us be thankful that he is in good hands," she decided. The young woman turned her gaze to the view from the window, which lucidly emphasised the verdure of the Downton estate. "I feel that I should be outside on a walk with the baby and the family... We should all go for a walk, before autumn consumes the summer and its warmth."

Isobel grinned in accord. "What a lovely idea. I shall arrange it, if you do not mind. We should make it on a Saturday, when everyone is likely to be available. Perhaps even the servants can come, if Carson allows them." She and Mary both chuckled, for they knew overly well how the butler reacted to anyone's suggestion to have a break from work.

"It is settled, then," Mary announced. "I only hope that George will be well when the time comes."

"He _will_ be, my dear. You'll see." Isobel kissed Mary's cheek and wondered, "Will you remain here for the week, or will you return to Downton?"

The decision of whether to leave her son to the nurses of the hospital had not yet come across Mary's mind, mostly due to the fact that she had not wanted to face it. "I think I shall return home," she told the other, "but only because I know that I will not do any good here for an entire week. I will come to visit the baby, of course, but Mama needs me back at Downton. I feel it would be meaningless, anyway, for me to stay here when I would rarely be able to see my son in the first place."

"I stand by your decision," Isobel confidently replied. "If you would like to come with me right now, I would be happy to have my chauffeur take you to the abbey - that is, if you are ready at this moment."

"I am," Mary admitted. She knelt down to get her suitcase, which she had strategically packed on the previous night. "I must dress properly first." She smiled and added, "If you do not mind, Isobel, I would like to say good-bye to the baby."

"Of course you may," Isobel interjected, her face glowing with excitement. She had a considerate daughter-in-law and a lovely grandson; these were the best gifts with which her son could have left her, and she exited the room in a satisfied state of mind.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	9. PART NINE: Earl and Countess Unite

Although only twenty-four hours of warm and breezy weather had passed, every minute felt all the more strenuous and eternal to Mary. Such was also the case for Robert, who could not slash out the horrid memory of his helpless grandson breathing rather unusually.

All had been a blur for the widowed mother: first she had pressed a soft kiss upon the sleeping George's forehead, and as if only seconds had gone by she was sitting in the ghoulishly silent environment that was the dining room. Carson could infer from the whole evening that the family was depressed even more than before without even one Crawley man breathing in the big house.

The new morning, Mary soon realised, was not about to quicken its pace; the woman found herself with nothing to do - that is, nothing other than to go through her late husband's wardrobe. How she hated her life without Matthew - not to exclude George, temporarily - and how she dreamed to be a different person in an alternative world! She wondered if Matthew peered through the heavens at that moment with a scornful look at her, furious that she desired not to move on without him. _How can I,_ she mused, _when I live with the one alive who reflects the one who is dead?_

Captivated by her dark thoughts at her time of mourning, Mary sighed and covered her face. She was in her room. She did nothing. She only sat at the foot of the too-comfortable bed, wondering why the clocks were so against her being able to fix her eyes upon her son again.

…

Anna sauntered through the upstairs hallway, not able to come to the reality that she would have to face the grieving Lady Mary Crawley once again. What was more, the head housemaid knew that the day was symbolic, thus making the situation more upsetting.

It was the eighth day after the birth of George Crawley. Anna, knowing a combination of church traditions and the late Matthew Crawley's desires, found it unbearable to grasp the fact that his son would not be christened on this day. _It was what Mr. Matthew wanted so dearly,_ recalled the young woman. Her eyes began to water, which startled her immediately and caused her to stop in her stride to regain composure.

Tom Branson strode casually down the hallway with his daughter in his arms. When he noticed Anna at her time of weakness, the kindness in the Irishman flowed through his speech: "Anna, are you well? Is there anything I can do?"

"That is very kind, Mr. Branson, but no, thank you. I will be just fine once I come to my senses again. I am so sorry to have troubled you."

"Not at all," came the reply. Branson nodded and offered a last modest grin to the housemaid. Anna managed to evoke her own smile out of the body that faced internal turmoil, and she succeeded.

To the moment's coincidence, John Bates was carefully making his way up the flight of stairs, with Lord Grantham's morning attire in the opposite hand to the one that held his cane. Anna's eyes could sense her husband's cheery presence, and her ears could pick up his very familiar breathing pattern. She grinned widely now, upon meeting Mr. Bates' figure in the midst of the contrary wishes and worries. He greeted his wife with an "I had a feeling you'd be here."

The woman looked blankly into her husband's weary eyes; Bates knew at once that something troubled her.

"Are you all right, Anna?"

"As 'all right' as I can be," she exhaled, finding the time appropriate to chuckle. _What a mess I am, _she chastised herself.

John Bates was not convinced. "Perhaps I should tell Mrs. Hughes that you need some rest?"

"No! Really, I am well. If I could just make my way to Lady Mary's -"

"Let me go instead," Bates offered. He knew even after the words burst from his mouth that they were unbelievable, but it was the only option that he had thought would give his wife some time to relax her overtired mind.

"John, that is not proper! Besides -" "Please let me go there, Anna. I can at least ask her if she would not mind waiting another hour to get ready."

"But what about his Lordship? Surely you must see to his needs before going about anything else!"

"I know, I just thought of that, but I have a solution. Just trust me." Bates locked eyes with his wife and she instantly acted with obedience by nodding and returning downstairs.

…

"Milord, if I may..."

"Yes, Bates? What is it?" Lord Grantham fastened his tie while he waited rather impatiently for his valet to proceed with the statement. The two men faced one another as soon as Robert finished with his attire, and he looked upon Bates with respect. "I am so sorry to be jumpy about it; please, do not feel unable to inform me of whatever it is."

John Bates always admired his superior for his decency when it came to reverent treatment of Downton's servants. The death of Matthew Crawley had hit the earl hard, though, and Bates often felt that he did not do enough to support his employer. "I -" he began, but he needed not finish; at that moment, a weary woman who donned the attire for mourning entered the room. It was Cora.

"My dear, is there something -"

"Robert, please come quickly - it's Mary. She needs you - _us_ - and I promised that you would be there soon. Now please finish in here." The Countess of Grantham turned to face the valet and acknowledged him: "Thank you, Bates; his Lordship won't be needing anything for awhile."

"Thank you, your Ladyship. Milord," Bates saluted, nodding formally to Robert. The other man likewise nodded, though his facial expression was very grave. _Mary_ needs _me_? The impossible question repeated in the father's head too many times. _My daughter_ needs _me?_

…

Mr. Bates ran into Anna downstairs, for the young woman had just finished speaking with Mrs. Hughes about her current necessity: to rest. When the overwhelmed Anna crossed paths with her husband, she began to speak when John blurted, "It is taken care of."

"But -"

"I told you: his Lordship has it all settled. Her Ladyship requested that he go to Lady Mary's room, so we won't have to worry." Bates took a deep breath of fresh, enlivening air. He could not comprehend the opportunity that he and his wife had indirectly been given. "We should spend the morning together," he brainstormed, purposely trying to sound as vague as possible in order for Anna to question him further.

"What does that mean? A walk through the village? A nice late breakfast?"

"You tell me," came the sly response.

…

"Oh, Mama," cried Mary. Her face was drowned in sorrow and longing for the two Crawley men who were not present, and she sunk into her mother's comforting embrace. Robert engaged himself, too, but only when he realised that if he took no action his wife would scold him. The dreary father was often frightened to see his children in tears, for he knew that such did not come unless tragedy had struck; and Mary was evidently in a tragic position.

"My dear," began Cora, putting all meaning into her words, "you are enduring a process that never ceases to exist, and I understand. It is _so _hard. We love you and want to help, Mary."

"I would like to add to what your mama has told you," Robert slowly offered in recompense for his silence in the conversation thus far. He continued after his eyes came into contact with those of his daughter: "Your son will be here soon - he comes home on Friday - so let this be a time of preparation for him. Your mama and I will assist you in straightening up this room, and we can all head down to the village to find more clothing for him-"

"That is all very well, Papa, but I fear that you miss the point," commented Mary. She was bolder now, both in her composition and in her speech. Cora straightened in her sedentary position on the edge of her daughter's bed.

"The point is that I am without yet another member of my family. I am collapsing…because Matthew is dead and my only son is away from me." Mary paused to observe the expression of grief that appeared on her father's frozen face. Cora could not prevent her tears from spilling, though this process was ever so silent. She had learned to weep quietly after the loss of her two other children.

"Let me say one more thing," demanded Mary softly. Her eyes lifted just enough so that she could see the little good luck charm sleeping on the dresser, and then she returned her mind to the present. "I may not be a very nice person - at least, not to anyone living - but Matthew made the point of telling me that I would always be who he truly thought I am. He _loved_ me and made sure that I was happy. So when I think about today and what it would have meant to him..."

Nothing more could the woman impart to her parents, for she was met by a discomforting choke.

Even so, Cora did not speak; nor did Robert. They waited in the silence that was their environment for one minute until their daughter picked up her speech once more: "Today is the eighth day after the birth of my son. Matthew so desperately wanted for his child to be baptized on this day. He importuned me about it, and I truly wanted him to be happy, but now...it is not possible, not when George is in the hospital." Her last few words ended with uncontrollable sobbing.

Robert had broken completely. Cora turned to face her husband and gently embraced the man who had lost his son, his heir, and his comfort. _Matthew was so important to Robert, _she recalled._ He was the son whom my husband dreamed to have_.

Mary needed not another means of proof that her father had in fact been listening and empathizing with her. To see another person weep, she thought bluntly, was not a completely horrible thing. Mary decided to lift herself from the bed so as to let her mother and father alone in their time of grief.

Cora stopped her daughter with words: "Sit," she commanded simply. Mary, amazed by her mother's desperation to keep her for a while more, turned to face the other woman's body and obeyed. "Do not think for a moment that you don't have the right to be here with your mother and father when we all loved him very much."

"I understand, Mama. I know that you both loved him and that you admired what he was willing to do for us," Mary explained. "I know this and I thank you for caring so much for him while he lived under this roof..."

"Of course," Cora whispered soothingly, stroking her daughter's long hair. Robert looked at the two women with love, and so he composed himself - as much as possible - before rising from the bed to kiss them both on their cheeks. He turned to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" Mary asked him wearily.

"To see my grandson at the hospital - would you like to come?"


	10. PART TEN: Never Alone

It had been ten days since the baby's entrance into the world, which meant more to Mary that it was Tuesday and her son would be back home on Friday. Edith had decided to take her sister out for a walk in order to drain some time before the woman visited the child that night after dinner.

Mary and Edith had strolled through the garden; they had rested on the bench near one of the elegant brick pathways; and the two had even run into the village on a whim. Nevertheless, both young women felt that there was still more time in the day than the entire trip to Duneagle Castle. "I wish we could go to see George now," complained Mary, dawdling along the dirt path with her eyes focused on nothing but the ground.

"You will get to see him, I promise. Just start to look at the beauty of our home and time will speed by." Edith cocked her head to attract her sister's eyes, which were studying the various cracks and crevices in the earth.

"Sorry," Mary sighed, "but I am not brave enough to look at the bright and cheerful skies when my child is under hospital care."

"He will be all right," assured Edith, beginning to sense testiness through her own tone of voice. She stopped her pace and paused before adding, "I am sure that he is sleeping right now, since they check up on him in the early mornings and evenings."

"And just think," Mary exclaimed, indifferent about what her sister's previous words were. "The poor child has not had his mother for three days! I don't understand -"

"You know the baby's health was delicate to begin with. Do not put the blame on anyone or anything; sometimes it happens this way." Edith put a shoulder on her sister after letting out such a bold assertion.

The other blinked, looked up into the sky, and returned her focus to her sister. "Forgive me."

"Mary, there is nothing for me to forgive! Let us walk over to Granny's house; I am sure that she will be thrilled to see us, since no one has visited her in days."

Reluctant to agree to Edith's suggestion - yet at the same time in admiration of her sister's thoughtfulness - Mary nodded, continuing down the path amidst the perfect verdure of Downton.

...

The Dowager Countess of Grantham was pleased to see her two grandchildren during this time of mourning. Though she did not wish to bring up the subject of her great-grandson, Violet could not resist to ask, "Have you seen the baby recently?" to Mary.

Edith turned to her sister, who made no emotion escape when she answered, "Papa and Mama went with me on Sunday to visit him. Doctor Clarkson tells us that he is doing well." She had not desired to speak of her child, but Mary resulted in feeling more at ease following her response to her grandmother. The answer satisfied Violet, whereupon she altered the object of conversation:

"And how is young Sybil?"

"All right, I think," Edith replied, though her voice lacked  
enthusiasm. "We hardly see Tom, much less his daughter. I think he means to -"

"Branson is in mourning, as we all are. There is no need to defend his desire for solitude, Edith dear. We all have our ways to grieve." Violet signalled the house butler to bring tea. "You both must have large appetites; how warm it is today, and to have been walking out underneath the sun!"

Mary surprised the other two women with a chuckle. Edith turned to face her sister. Mary simply asked, "What? Is there something wrong with -"

"Of course not! When I heard you -"

Edith stopped in her speech when she recognised a somber expression in her sister's eyes. "Sorry," she managed.

"No," Mary blurted, "it's only..." The woman could not move herself up from the dining room chair sooner than the tears spilled from her pallid face. Violet exclaimed, "Mary dear!"

"I will be fine," came the rushed response, though the strength of her words was not enough for Mary to sound reassuring.

"Why don't we go outside to walk it out?" offered Edith, trying with all her might to find an antidote for her poor sister's state of sorrow.

Violet held a hand out: "No, she must remain here. Mary, Edith and I are family; you can express whatever -"

"I do not intend to embarrass myself further!" Mary insisted, and it was a bolder assertion than the latter. Edith cowered in her seat, for she could not bear to experience her sister's battle against helplessness.

"I must be going," the widow explained, doing her absolute best to recollect herself. Focusing her distressed eyes upon Edith, she told her sister, "There is no need to leave with me right now; I will walk home. Alone." She gulped down another lump of discomposure and added, "After all, as I will be alone for the rest of my life, I might as well become well acquainted with the feeling."

In seconds, Mary evaded the room that had trapped her from the freedom to cry, to scream, and to hope for a different life in an entirely different time.

Violet was speechless. The last time she had witnessed Mary storm out of a room in tears was months ago, when the woman had attempted (and failed) to sit through dinner with a restless child draining all strength from her body.

What stunned both grandmother and granddaughter was that Edith followed her sister shortly after Mary had vanished from the room. "Are you sure that you want to follow her?" cried Violet, but the younger woman had long since left the house.

...

"Mary!" shouted Edith, panting as she slowed her pace and caught up to her sister. The other woman was composed now, astounded by Edith's determination to help her.

The two were already halfway to the big house, due to the quick pace that Mary had taken. "Why have you left Granny alone?" she admonished Edith.

"Because you must understand...that we are _never _alone!" managed the younger sister despite shortness of breath. Edith locked her gaze with Mary's own one, stressing her eagerness to be a source of comfort to her sister.

"You are a dear, Edith, but I will never get through this. Not even the presence of my son can serve as recompense for my husband's death." Her composure failed once more, covering a most unattractive, most unwanted countenance.

"Oh, Mary, of course one cannot recover from the death of a loved one." She let her older sister into her gentle embrace and added, "I cease to forget that Sybil is gone and I know that no one has forgotten, either. Such things simply cannot be put aside. These people - Patrick, Sybil, and Matthew - were all parts of our lives.

"What I find wonderful," Edith pressed on, "is that we always have the comfort of our family..." She paused to allow her lungs to regain strength. "We are never alone, Mary. Not completely. And if it seems that way...talk to me. Talk to Mama. Come to your family, as we are here for you."

Mary's tears had, at this point, dried; she was astonished by the effectiveness of her sister's speech and decided not to reply in any other way - that is, save for a squeeze on the hand and a smile.

...

"Only an hour, Papa, I promise," Mary assured her father, kissing him on the cheek before exiting through the front door to the big house. She had indirectly convinced Mrs. Patmore to prepare dinner earlier in the night, allowing her to visit George before the day was too late.

Robert protested no more to his daughter, positive that she would stay true to her declaration and return within the next hour. He bid her a good outing, sent his love to the child, and turned away from the door that led to the outside world. It pained the Earl to remember the absence of his one and (most likely) only grandson, and this drove his body straight to the library, eager for a moment of isolation.

He took large strides to the room in which he loved to relax; no one was present in the library, which satisfied Lord Grantham all the more. His time here would be solemn and quiet, for he wished to reflect upon the death of the man he instinctively could have called "son". There were too many topics surrounding the loss of Matthew Crawley, beginning with the late man's son.

George would be raised at Downton, just as his mother had been. He would - as The Lord deemed so - lead a perfectly healthy childhood so that he would have the opportunity to take the title of heir to the Downton estate. Robert had doubts that he would live long enough to see his grandson an adult, but his hopes were that at least Isobel and Cora would outlive him to support the next heir.

At the most inopportune moment, Carson clicked the library door open to let the Dowager Countess inside the dimly lit room. "At least these inventors finally made contraptions that do not overwhelm one who enters," she remarked wittily, referring to the lamps and other electric items. Her son chuckled.

"Mama, I am afraid that your timing is not to my advantage."

"Oh? Why might that be?"

Robert sighed. "I was going to take the time to think about...estate matters. You know, those things..."

"Did Mary leave, my dear?" Violet examined the crackling wood residing in the fireplace.

"Yes, she did. I wanted her to have as much time possible with her child before the hospital closes tonight." The Earl exhaled heavily once more, this time drawing Violet's attention. "I am overwhelmed, Mama," he admitted to his mother in a whisper.

The other drew nearer to the man dressed in white tie, the sickest shoes, and a countenance of weariness. Violet stretched out her hand to Robert and assured him, "We all feel the pangs of both the most recent and year-old deaths. Not only those, all losses that we experience throughout our lives. You have done well with Mary, Robert."

"How do you know?" the man questioned abruptly after the conclusion of his mother's appraisal.

"You went to her one afternoon, which showed her that you care about her and love her. Mary does not feel such things every day, my son, because - the truth is - she is born into an aristocratic family! We are busy people, dealing with estate business, whom to employ, what clothing to wear to the dinner to which we have been invited. Nothing, therefore, means more to a child in the aristocracy than for both of their parents to demonstrate their love. I am sure that you can remember a time when you experienced a lack of adoration from your father and me."

"Now that you mention it, I do recall..." Robert began to understand, whereupon he put a hand to his forehead. "...I do remember that, when I was five years old, you and Papa were busy entertaining guests, and neither of you had time to come to the nursery to say good night to me, nor Rosamund, who was younger than I."

"You see," Violet continued, "it is the normality of the conduct of an estate for the children to be left behind. The aristocracy is not about children, save for the urgency to produce heirs. It is not about complete families - father, mother, son, daughter - but about incomplete ones, so that the son can rule the estate for the generations to come."

"Certainly, however, family is important -"

Violet interrupted him: "Yes, it is important to the _people_, Robert, but not to the way by which an estate runs. Families must, therefore, work to find time for one another in the midst of the business in life. Do you understand?"

Robert smiled because he did not believe that he would ever quite understand, but he nodded and explained, "I think that I comprehend as much as I ever will."


	11. PART ELEVEN: The King Returns

Two feet met the warm carpet floor that soaked up the crisp, bright waves of heat from the rising sun. Bed left unmade; bell left silent; stomach left empty; Mary Crawley prepared for the meaningful day ahead, graceful notes of song dancing through her body. She needed not to ring for Anna; for, after all, she was a mother now, which requires the ability to take care of oneself as well as others. _A mother,_ Mary cringed. _How on earth have the years run away?_

The scrunched, untidy bedspread had no importance to be fixed on such a day; the woman would have laughed at the thought of thinking to make the insignificant array of red and white fabric, though time was too precious for even the slightest chuckle to leave the mouth. Whereupon Mary abandoned the mattress that held the covers with a large history of comfort, fright, warmth, and tears. Why would she possibly wrap her mind around the prospect of satisfying her hunger for food when her thirst for her son was the imperative? Mary looked no further than the hallway to the dining room as she scrambled out of Downton Abbey at eight o'clock in the fresh morning.

It was Friday. The time had come for the king to return to his kingdom.

Such a day could not have been sweeter to Mary - that is, not unless her late husband resurrected himself from the grave, which she did not predict would happen at any time soon. Isobel, who shared a similar excitement and optimism to that of Mary, had promised her daughter-in-law that she would arrive at the Downton Village Hospital around eight thirty. This was the exact minute at which Doctor Clarkson had told Mary and Isobel to collect George.

The village bus rolled along the wide road that had, to its right, an alleyway leading to the hospital. Upon exiting the vehicle, Mary instantly found Isobel, who waited just outside the door. Grand hues of red and orange and yellow veiled the noble tree trunks scattered throughout the village. Mary tasted the autumn air and marveled at the present time.

Her mother-in-law soon noticed her nearing the entrance to the hospital. "It appears we're here early, so I am afraid the door is locked."

Mary forced herself not to sigh in disappointment; rather, she smiled genially at the other woman and acknowledged her: "Thank you for making it here this morning. It means a great deal to me - to everyone, really." She stopped to breathe, as she needed to do so; her heart seemed to run as fast as an automobile, and her lungs panted as they caught up with the pace of Mary's mind and jubilance.

Isobel was quick to respond: "My dear, we are all working together to make the best out of circumstances - no matter how difficult it may be. And - oh!" She had not more time to speak because the hinges of the door extended and there appeared the doctor.

"It is a fine morning," Clarkson exclaimed, the joy radiating out through the man's gleeful countenance. "Mrs. Crawley, Lady Mary, please do come in."

...

"How should we stand, milord: Mrs. Hughes and the maids all together on the right and the footmen and Mr. Bates on the left?" Carson questioned the Earl of Grantham following the notice that Mary, Isobel, and George Crawley would be on their way back to Downton quite soon.

Robert smiled at Carson's good (not to forget fatherly) intention to perfect the welcoming of the heir presumptive, his mother, and his grandmother. "Anything you do I trust," Robert told the butler. "I just want to make sure that all of the staff are present. Also, Carson," he continued, "would you please call the hospital to find out when Lady Mary leaves?"

"Certainly, milord," Carson replied. "I will make the telephone call now. Mrs. Hughes will collect all of the maids - oh! What shall I tell Anna to do in preparation for Lady Mary and - "

"I will have her Ladyship take care of it, Carson. I recall Lady Grantham making it clear that she wishes to prepare Lady Mary's room on her own." Lord Grantham looked up from the wood flooring at which his eyes had been staring; then, snapping out of the trance, he released Carson. _Mary will not expect such a welcoming party as this,_ he mused.

...

Isobel and Mary followed closely behind Doctor Clarkson and the nurse until they approached the very room that the mother of the patient had visited several times previous. The nurse clicked the silent wooden door open, and Mary's vision turned various colours the moment she entered.

Isobel, who had allowed her daughter-in-law the privilege to walk into the wonderfully lit room first, put a comforting hand on Mary's stiff back and asked, "Are you quite well, my dear?"

Mary was not well; in fact, she felt faint and quite unable to speak. Her mind spun with a series of memories, all but one involving her late husband. The first sight that flashed through her eyes was the time when she had remained with an injured Matthew Crawley in that very hospital until he awoke to her soothing call: _"Matthew...Matthew..."_

A second and more painful recollection consumed the young Mary Crawley, when she lay next to her husband who spoke the words: _"I will love you...until the last breath leaves my body."_ How it dug into her emotion to imagine the fulfillment of this passionate phrase - the fulfillment of that last breath, the end to his love for her - because he was dead. Mary attempted to see her son in the small crib along the west side of the hospital room, but she was still trapped in an untold number of events from the past - some having been jovial, others having the sole purpose to haunt her.

The first nasty things spoken to Matthew by Mary appeared as the victim had proclaimed years ago: _"...as fresh as the day they were spoken."_ The first marriage proposal, Matthew's farewell to Mary at the garden party, Lavinia's debut appearance at Downton, and that poor woman's finale in the cursed bedroom...

The blow that Matthew had given to Sir Richard Carlisle, revealing that irresistible Crawley way of demonstrating love for another; the kiss in the frosty winter air, which had mended all issues; the wedding bells that had finally become a reality...

Recent events - Mary found in her state of half-consciousness - were the most agonizing of all, whereupon she lost balance as the sight of her husband retrieving their child from the mother's gentle arms swept all else from her brain. The tears that she had cried every night since her husband's death pushed her further to the ground; to Mary's fortune, however, Isobel Crawley caught the woman before she had completely fallen.

Doctor Clarkson shouted, "Lady Mary!", as did Isobel and the other nurse. The ignorant George continued in slumber as all these occurred.

Finally, the moment she longed for had come: Isobel took a nearby damp cloth and put it to her daughter-in-law's forehead. Mary instantly awoke from the nightmare. "Mary, can you hear me?" Isobel tested, hoping against all hopes that the younger woman would function properly again. Mary nodded, though she gazed not at anyone in particular. Her thoughts were still astray, and her mind could not yet grasp the main idea of her being in the very room in which she stood.

Clarkson proceeded to lift the awakening child out of the crib. The nurse compiled all of the baby's belongings and handed them to Isobel. Mary then regained focus and eagerness to hold her son. "Doctor Clarkson...?"

The other chuckled and nodded. "Just be sure that you feel well now, Lady Mary. Here." He carefully handed George over to the mother. She could not yet smile, for she had to maintain seriousness as she made the child comfortable in her arms. "He is all ready to return home, and with very healthy lungs."

"Thank you," Mary told the doctor with meaning, her eyes having floated carefully from her child to Clarkson and the nurse. The response she received was not verbal; rather, the man grinned with satisfaction and, noticing that his work was complete, departed the room to tend to the other patients in his hospital.

Isobel reached out her hand to place it on the baby's cheek. "Let us return little George home." She leaned in to lightly kiss the child's forehead. Mary could not summon the proper words in response; her imagination had caused her to feel as if the late Matthew Crawley were standing behind her, consumed in adoration of their blessed son.


End file.
